


A Banquet for the Victorious

by Prussian Joltik (Twilight_Joltik)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cardverse, M/M, Post-War Victory Banquet, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twilight_Joltik/pseuds/Prussian%20Joltik
Summary: The Kingdom of Clubs has won the war against Spades, but King Ivan still feels hollow.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for the Heta-Ship-Gift-Exchange for echopancakes! Never written Cardverse or RusAme before, but it was a lot of fun!

The banquet was brilliant, but Ivan felt oddly melancholy. 

 

He looked to his left. Elizaveta was smiling as always. Brightly, like a rare glimpse of sun. Truly, Ivan was lucky to have her as his Queen, he thought. 

 

He looked to his right. Roderich looked relaxed for once in his life. He was so loyal, and he seemed so relieved for peace to have finally come over the land. Ivan was truly blessed to have such a loyal Jack. 

 

Across from him, Toris was picking at his food. He looked exhausted, as if running on fumes, but still less so than he’d been in years. And Natallia and Iryna sat on either side of him, both his precious sisters beaming brightly. 

 

Ivan knew he should feel happy as well, that this should be the crowning moment of his life. The war was over. His people would no longer live in fear of Spades, the land and wealth that defeat gave them would make the kingdom stronger than it’d been in centuries. 

 

And Ivan himself would be remembered as Ivan the Great, Ivan the Mighty, Ivan the Magnificent. A great king who lead his nation to victory. This had been his father’s dream, his father’s father’s dream. It was his dream.

 

So, why couldn’t he smile? Was it because he was tired? Numb from adrenaline? 

 

No, it was the King of Spades’ smile as they’d met that drained him so, Ivan would be lying to say otherwise. Alfred, was it? He’d been so brave, so noble. A true king till his last breath. 

 

He decided to try to forget about it before footsteps broke his concentration.

 

“My lord!”, one of the servants exclaimed, slipping between Toris and Iryna before giving a hasty bow. He was white-faced and breathing heavily, as if a ghost had popped up in front of him. “A package from one of the Jokers!”

 

“Jokers?”, Ivan repeated. He wanted to laugh. He should have laughed. “How amusing. But those don’t exist, now do they?”

 

Not a word came from the servant. He just handed Ivan a paper-wrapped package and dashed away. 

 

Curious, Ivan pulled the paper off to find a book, leather-bound and sturdy. A bookmark stuck out of it, one marked with the emblem of Spades. 

 

“Are you sure it’s safe, brother?”, Natallia questioned, leaning forward. “If that servant lied about it being from a Joker, it could easily be cursed, right?”

 

Ivan shook his head. “No, I am sure it’s fine,” he assured her as he flipped to the marked page. There was nothing written on it, but a few items had been jammed between them. A letter, still sealed with wax, as well as a four-leafed clover that seemed to have been pressed between the very pages, judging by the stains under it. 

 

Without a second thought, Ivan opened the letter. 

 

“My dearest ghost, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we danced together in Clubs. But, I fear I’ve discovered who you are. This letter will never reach you, but, you’re the King of Clubs, right? So, as the King of Spades, I don’t think I should try to continue to talk to you. But, I want to say at least, you’re wonderful and fascinating and brilliant and I’ll always cherish that night we spent talking.”

 

It was signed with a loopy signature Ivan had seen many times on legal documents. King Alfred of Spades. 

 

Ivan felt number than ever. He… had no recollection of anything like that. A masquerade, a bit, and maybe he’d spoken to someone for a while in the garden, but nothing magical like he had written of. 

 

But, perhaps that was why he felt so strange, why Alfred had smiled as he brought the axe down on his neck. 

 

Idly, he flipped the letter over and found a small portrait had been taped to it. It resembled the young king, but it couldn’t have been the same person. The name Matthew was written under it, along with a brief note, unsigned but biting. 

 

“You broke many hearts. Mine was one of them. May knowledge bring you despair as well.”

 

Laughter. That’s all Ivan could muster. Was this someone’s idea of a joke, claiming he’d broken the heart of the man he’d killed for his nation? Preposterous! The servant who brought him this would meet their end swiftly. 

 

But the pressed clover fell out of the pages, and a faint memory came back:

 

“See, this one’s lucky!”

  
“It must be, if I met you!”


End file.
